


Way back

by lorinhazuzu



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorinhazuzu/pseuds/lorinhazuzu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the end of the movie, Cassie might have gone off by herself, but she's never really without Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1\. March, 2009

I look around the dimly lit room before dropping my duffel bag to the ground, and plopping myself down onto the narrow single bed that was in the middle of the room.

Looking around I see a chair and a desk with a small TV on top of it. There is also a bed-side table, but there's no wardrobe or drawers. It doesn't matter. I don't have anything to fill them with anyway. Besides I'm not going to stay here long; I never really stay anywhere for longer than one or two weeks.

I look up at the ceiling that must have been a nice light cream colour a very long time ago. My forehead creases and I frown, unable again to See her. Sarah. My mother.

It shouldn't surprise me really, I had never been able to See my mother ever since she was taken, some three years ago. The closest I had been to getting my mother back had been when I finally met Nick, eighteen or so months ago, and even that had failed. Both Nick and I had decided to use the syringe in some way to get my mother out, but then Kira had come along and sweet-talked Nick into destroying it. It will be better, safer like this. We can find some other way to get her mother out, she'd said, and he agreed. Just like that. She didn't even have to Push him, all she needed to do was look at him with those sad, pleading brown eyes of hers. I huff angrily. That was the day I left. One year ago.

I remember it clearly. I just walked out when they were asleep. It is better this way, I remember thinking, it's not like I could've taken much more of Kira anyway; besides it's not like Nick had to take care of me, I wasn't his sister and I wasn't his daughter. I was just some girl who had barged into his life (and apartment) and brought a whole lot of trouble with her. No. It's better this way, I think once again.

2\. June, 2009

I walk into the bar, trying to look like I belong there, knowing from experience that no one will give me a second look as long as I don't look like some scared and lost little girl. I sit on one of the high stools, ignore the barman who is cleaning glasses looking bored. I give the TV hung up on the wall a fleeting look; there's some football* game on that nobody is watching, the score is tied and there's only seven minutes left. I stare down at the table top. There are glass marks everywhere and when I touch it, if feels sticky. I wonder briefly when was the last time someone cleaned it. Running the tip of my index finger from one side to the other, I look at the inscriptions made there. There are names: Bobby Jhones, Jay Smith, Tony Camplin, there are dates too, and a mixture of swear words and crude drawings. My eyes run over them until they stop on a specific one: Cassie Holmes. Today's date is written right next to it. I focus on the short message written under it until my eyes start watering. I blink then, and suddenly I'm not looking at engraved words on the top of a dirty balcony, instead I see a man: black hair, short stature, mean face. He has just walked into the bar I'm in right now and he is looking around until his gaze falls on the blonde girl sitting alone at the bar. I concentrate then, slowing down the vision so I can look up at the TV once again. The score, I see, is still the same, but there is only one minute left until the end of the game. With a bit of effort, I push the vision out, not needing to See the outcome of this encounter.

I look up at the TV. There are four minutes left. I walk quickly into the ladies room, already knowing there's a window there. Climbing out of it is easy, I've done it enough times.

As soon as my feet hit the cemented ground outside I start running in the opposite direction I know he is coming from. I can't afford to let him see me, and go on another wild chase. I've already done that today and I know I won't be able to run for much longer. As I run I think about the message on the balcony. The words felt as permanently engraved on my mind as they were on that old piece of mahogany. 'Go to him' it said. But I've already done that mum, I think, I've already found him like you wanted me to.

Still running and valiantly holding back my tears, I try very hard to forget that the word 'back' was also there in that sentence, put there only to haunt me. That short, short sentence which was all my mother had left me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
3\. September 2009   
It is a sunny day, and the place is busy, there is a buzz of movement and loud chatter. Too many colours. I find it hard to concentrate.  
I keep Watching, bumping into people as I go along, my eyesight is turned inwards though and there isn’t much I can do about that.  
I can See the girl, she is Hispanic and not much older than I, a mass of curly brown hair flying after he as she runs down one of the aisles of the market. I know that she could call for back up at any minute, which would not mean anything good for me, but she is young and I know without knowing she is trying to prove herself. I know the feeling well. The girl passes by one of the tents where they are selling curtains and bed sheets. I try to remember if I’ve passed by it before but it is hard. Everywhere I look looks the same, bright colours, too many people. Noise. So much noise.  
Usually I like it. The hustle of the big city, it always makes me feel safer, knowing I can get lost in the middle of so many people. Today though it is only serving to panic me further.  
I stop Watching for a second to look up at the person I’ve just bumped rather hard into. The apology dies on my lips as my eyes meet familiar blue ones. I stare wide eyed at him wondering how in the world I didn’t See this.  
“Cassie?” I can hear the utter disbelief in his voice, but I find that I can’t actually look him in the eye, even though he is holding me by my shoulders and leaning down slightly so he is at the same level as me.  
Still trying to avoid his gaze I look over his shoulder only to meet the dark green eyes of my pursuer. I feel my body stiffening in fear for a second, but it doesn’t last long. In the next second the girl is moving towards me, pushing people out of her way.  
My eyes finally meet his and I wish I could apologize, though I’m not sure what I feel sorry for, but all I can do is give him a regretful look before yanking my shoulders away from his grip.  
He looks startled, but I’m already turning away, Watching for where I should go, left? Right? I move frantically knowing she is following me and is only a minute away from calling for reinforcements.  
I ignore the voice calling out my name, and start running faster. I don’t know whether he is following or not but I don’t stop running and I don’t look back. After all, he is not the only one after me.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

4\. September 2009  
That night I dream I’m five again. My mother is there and I’m happy. It makes me strangely choked up to realize that this is all happiness is for me now: a dream of a long forgotten memory.  
I wish I was a better Watcher, that I could’ve seen then, what was coming, so I’d at least have time to prepare myself for the years of running, of never having anyone to depend on, of always being alone. God, alone. I felt so alone this days, sometimes I could practically feel myself going crazy, slowly and absolutely mad.  
“Cassie, honey are you alright?” Hearing the soft voice of my mother brings me out of my reverie. Somehow there was never anything as comforting and reassuring as the voice of my mother.  
I want to answer, to say that ‘No, I’m not alright’ and that I need her. I want to scream and storm at how unfair things are for the first time in my life, but the small, skinny five year old beats me to it, reminding me that much like when I am awake, I’m only a Watcher, just a spectator who most of the time cant really do anything to change things.  
The little girl nods, though she is crying. Her mum is down at her level and she is squeezing the girl’s shoulder reassuringly.  
“What did you See Cassie? Huh? Tell me” She asks bringing the girl into a hug.  
Slightly jealous, I watch on.  
“I saw…a boy” the girl starts, only to stop again, not sure what to say, but the short words are enough to remind me of what day this is. I wish for once I could wake up, not wishing to relieve the memory.  
“Yes? And what happened?” Sarah coaxes. I knew that my mother was a Watcher, growing up with the fact had taught me that more often than not, my mother and I shared the same visions, though mine were usually less detailed and more incomplete. Now though, nearly eleven years later I’m not completely sure my mum knew what happened, not sure she‘d Seen what I Saw.  
“He…lost his daddy”  
“How honey?”  
“The bad guys killed him” It shocks me, though I know it shouldn’t, to hear those words coming out of the little girl’s mouth. ‘Killed him’ she said. Just like that.  
“Did you See anything else?” I focus once more on the conversation, though I know what happens next. I’d lived through it.  
“He was running and he was crying and he looked scared” sniffling the girl re-told the story.  
“Really?” Something in her tone of voice makes me wonder once again, how much of our visions were the same.  
Receiving a nod as a answer I watch as my mother spaces out for a few seconds before focusing again on the child.  
“Did you see him talking to his daddy? She asks again, and suddenly it downs on me, the realization that though we’ve seen the same scene, the same outcome, our visions were different.  
It happens every now and again, I See the future, not only my future, but the future in general, more often than not I’ll See things as an outside party, like in this dream, but sometimes I’ll See things through someone else’s eyes. It took me a while to learn how to push myself out so I can See things from my own perspective, though it takes quite a lot of effort, I’m pretty good at it now.  
The girl shakes her head again.  
“No, his daddy just told him to run and hide”  
“Do you know what his name is?”  
“Yeah”  
“What is it?”  
“Nick”.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
5\. March, 2010  
It’s been months since I’ve last had that dream. Life goes on as it always does: a lot of running, a lot of hiding and a lot of take out food. A lot of it.  
I look for my mother. I feel sometimes that something is different but I still can’t See her. I wonder if she ever went through this; the frustration, the persistence, the temptation of just giving up. The desperation.  
I’m sixteen now, and I’m becoming desperate. I’ve talked to the many people - contacts- I’ve made through the years of running, but nobody knows anything, and every Sniff I manage to find can’t tell me where she is, and honestly, I just don’t know what to do anymore.  
I start to doubt. Doubt whether I’ll ever succeed, and I start to question. Question myself on why I’m even trying, even bothering to try when I know it’s an impossible mission.  
I know this is dangerous, when you start to doubt yourself and question your own motives, but when I’m alone there’s not much I can do to get myself out of this mood. No matter what I do, I always end up brooding. Thinking, moping. I’m losing my mind and I know it.

\--------------------------------------------------------------  
6\. March, 2010  
That night I almost wish I could go back to my old nightmares. I dream of my mother again. She’s older now. Both of them are and I can’t tell simply by looking around what day this is, so I wait, knowing they’ll give me an answer regardless on whether I want it or not.  
“Cassie are you listening to me?” the woman asks the girl that is all long skinny limbs and messy wavy hair. She nods and Sarah goes on.  
“I want you to pay attention, if something ever happens to me”  
“What kind of thing?” the girl quickly interrupts.  
Sarah smiles and looks at her expectantly.  
“Sorry” the girl sighed out after a few seconds.  
“That’s alright. Now, as I was saying, if something ever happens to me, I want you to go find him okay? Find Nick.”  
“Find Nick” she echoes.  
“Yes. He’ll help you Cassie, you just have to find him, okay?”  
“Okay” she repeats, though she doesn’t look too happy about it.  
“You’ll be fine” her mother promises while hugging her.   
“You’ll be just fine”  
I wake up startled at how suddenly the dream ended. Thinking about the dream I remember that it was only days after that happened that Division caught up to us and we were separated.  
I’ve thought of this many times before, but now, right after having that dream, I can’t help but wonder why it even happened. Or how. My mother was - is - one of the best Watchers out there, and four years later, here I am, still wondering how she could have left herself be captured when she was already planning things years ahead, when she had planned things for the time when she was imprisoned.  
It makes my head spin just to think about it and it still surprises me that my mother never went crazy having to keep up with so much all the time. Seeing the future, I’ve learnt, is as much of a curse as it is a gift, and I know I can’t deal with it. Not the way my mother did.  
Under my breath, I curse the stupid dream. Running my fingers through my matted hair I sigh and wish they’d go away, I’ve already have enough of Seeing the future, I don’t need to start seeing the past too.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------

7\. November, 2010  
I’m in London. I’m not sure where exactly, I never really bother to know where I am, it’s safer that way.  
I walk around looking down at my boot clad feet. I grew out of the over the knee high boots a while ago, and when I say grew out of them, I mean it both figuratively and literally. These are shorter, though they are still black and flat like the old ones.  
It’s sometime in October and the weather is the typical British weather; the skies are a dark gray colour threatening to rain and the breeze is chilly. Because of it, I’m forced to wear tights and a huge jacket that has a hood because I know it is going to rain soon and I’ve lost my umbrella ages ago.  
I look down at the strands of my hair that go down past my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve last cut it and the pink streaks have long since faded.  
I keep walking, sure of my destination though I’ve no idea as to how I’m getting there. It doesn’t really matter. I have time.  
It’s about another half an hour later, when I see something I recognize from my vision: the big MacDonalds sign is kind of hard to ignore.   
I look down at my new watch to see that I’m just in time. I spot the woman quite easily by her purple coloured coat.  
I follow quickly and after only a few seconds I see her stop to call for a taxi, just like I’d Seen. Even from where I’m standing I can hear the loud noise of her mobile phone ringing. She reaches into her pocket to get it just as she gets into the car. I wait until the car’s taken off and then I walk to where the woman had last been standing, I crouch down and pick up the purse she unknowingly dropped.  
I don’t stop to look through it. I already know how much money is in it. I shove the purse in my pocket, quickly walking away. I hear the rumble of thunder which makes me quicken my step. I’m anxious to find some cheap motel I can check in in.  
I have enough sense to know that I should walk away from this part of town knowing there won’t be any cheap hotels here in the town centre.  
Before I can get very far I feel the rain as it starts to fall. It is raining ice, and it hurts where it hits my skin. Suddenly people around me start walking faster, all of them eager to get out of the rain. I am shoved around a bit but I almost don’t feel it, because suddenly I’m frozen in place, my eyes focusing on something no one else can see.  
I’m in a white room that reminds me of hospitals, though no hospital I had ever been in had filled me with such dread. I look around quickly spotting the only bed in the room.  
My breath catches in my throat and I feel as if my body has just been jerked awake.  
It is easy to recognize her - those familiar feature, the blond hair - even though she’s never looked so different. The emaciated frame, and her body, that looks so skinny and frail that I’m sure the slightest breeze would be able to blow her away.  
I take my fill of her. This is the first time I’ve seen her in four years and I don’t know how long the vision is going to last.  
As I watch, she stirs awake, she blinks a few times, and I’m hit with such a wave of sadness and regret as I see those eyes - just like mine - I feel myself stumbling forward, wanting to get closer, to reach out for her, but I’m only there with her mentally. Physically I’m still somewhere in London, miles and miles and miles away from her.  
There are no wires or IVs or those annoying beeping heart monitors. Nothing else resembles a hospital except for the chosen colour, besides that the place looks exactly like what it is: a prison.  
I watch as my mother goes into such a violent coughing fit, I feel myself wincing. When she brings her hands down from her mouth I see blood. The sight of it makes my whole body go taut with tension. I watch unable to do anything as her breath quickens, it looks like it is painful for her to breath and she just looks so tired. I recognize the symptoms even as I shake my head in denial. I’ve seen this before, three years ago. When I met Kira.  
I wonder what sort of tests they’ve been making on her, but I quickly push the thought away. I makes me nauseous.   
Her breathing becomes more ragged by the second and she is panting as if she’s just run a marathon though I know she probably hasn’t got off that bed in a very long time.   
Startled, I whirl around at the sound of the door opening to see a woman coming in. She’s tall with a vivid shade of red hair and as she walks towards me I instinctively step aside though I know she couldn’t actually walk into me. This, I remind myself is just a vision, I’m not really here, though it feels that way.  
The woman looks down at my mother whose breathing only seems to be worsening. There is a frown on her face and she quickly walks back towards the door, sticks her head out and calls out to someone called Beth. Beth the blond, comes in quickly and they both walk closer, ext to my mother’s bed, watching her.  
I want to tell them to do something and not just stand there, but even if I could make my voice work, they wouldn’t hear me.  
“She won’t last much longer” Beth says and I feel my breath catch, the words semm to freeze my insides.  
“Do something” I tell them, but my voice is low and hoarse and it breaks and they can’t hear me. That feeling of dread in my stomach intensifies and I know, I know.  
“It’s a shame it didn’t work” the red-head says, but I’m not listening. Vaguely I realize they are still talking, but at the moment all I can do is look at her. Her eyes are still open though she doesn’t seem to be aware of anything around her.  
“No” I hear “There’s nothing else we can do.”  
Nothing else. Nothing else but wait.  
So I stand there, a stranger between strangers and we all watch as Sarah Frank takes her last breath.  
It’s a few seconds later when Beth mutter something that only serves to make the situation ten times worse.  
“5 o’clock” she says “12 of November, 2010”, and everything disappears.  
.  
.  
.  
Once I can see my own surroundings again I realize I’m sitting down at the wet sidewalk, my clothes are soaked through, ice is still falling from the sky in big lumps and the wind’s picked up. The temperature is getting lower by the minute but it doesn’t compare to how I’m feeling inside.  
I decide this is the coldest I’ve ever felt.  
Far in the distance I hear the clock chime five times.  
One…  
Two…  
Three…  
Four…  
Five.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
